


Fraying at the Edges

by BloodEnvy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, medical treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BloodEnvy
Summary: When Rocket is hurt during a mission gone wrong, the others leave you to patch him up.





	Fraying at the Edges

Being a member of the infamous Guardians of the Galaxy definitely came with its perks; free drinks in almost every respectable port from Contraxia to Knowhere, adventures through outer space you couldn’t have imagined as a child, and some of the strangest and occasionally infuriating friends you could ask for. But, as it was with most things, it came with its downsides as well. Just as the resident hothead and explosives enthusiast Rocket had just been reminded.

You were the only one of the adults left aboard the Milano during the deal. It was your turn to watch Groot, and you were doing your best to keep him entertained despite your anxiety. Nerves were normal whenever you were left behind; not knowing what was going on left you antsy, especially when too many of the jobs you all accepted seemed to go sideways. Still, you were bouncing a ball around the main room of the Milano for him to chase, which he was happily doing. You stiffened as soon as you heard Rocket’s agonized cursing, followed quickly by Drax telling him to stop complaining.

You caught the ball as it passed, kneeling down to speak to Groot.

“Hey, Groot. I need you to go and wait in Quill’s bunk, okay buddy?” you said quickly, keeping your voice gentle. Last thing you wanted was to freak the little guy out. He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Gamora will come and get you soon. Promise.”

“I am Groot?”

“Everything’s alright, I just need to take care of something, okay, sprout?” you reassured him softly. “Who’s my guy?”

He gave you a confused smile, nodding. “I am Groot.”

“Damn straight, it’s you.” You smiled warmly, glancing behind you as you heard Drax shout for you, now on the ship. “Quick now, sprout. Gamora will be back soon.”

He nodded again, running off down the corridor just as Drax entered. “Y/N! Rocket has been injured!”

“Fuck.”

“Understatement…” Rocket groaned, his paws clinging weakly to his side. Part of his jumpsuit had been blown away by a blaster shot, and the fur usually hidden underneath was slick with blood. Despite his obvious pain, he still flinched away from Drax’s hold on him. “Put me down.”

“You are—”

“Put me the hell down, Drax!” he ordered, apparently in too much pain to even muster up an insult. Drax cast you a look as he complied, and Rocket stood on shaky legs, one paw still over his side. His jaw was tight with determination, but he stumbled as he tried to step away. You stood quickly.

“Rocket…” you tried, but stopped yourself; there wasn’t any point in arguing. “Get to the bunk. I’ll be in in a minute.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Just do it, dude. Before I pick your ass up and take you there myself.”

He blinked at you, confused by your suddenly commanding demeanor. He nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

You moved to speak in Drax’s ear. You had to stand on your toes to do so. “Follow him. Help him if he needs it. And get a bowl of warm water, please. I’ll get the rest of the stuff.”

Drax nodded, and despite his usual unaffected expression, you could see worry in his eyes. “Of course. Be fast. The beast is small, and lost blood. He will run out long before we would.”

“Ah… right. That’s a pleasant thought.” You grabbed his arm as he passed you. “Groot’s in Quill’s room. Don’t let him see.”

He left, and you hurried to fetch the first aid kit and a few towels. You had limited experience with first aid, and none when it came to working on animals, but you hoped what you’d seen on television was accurate enough that it would work long enough to get him to a professional.

Quill and Gamora rushed aboard as you collected the last of it, sweaty and breathless. There was grime streaked across Peter’s forehead, and blood on her blade.

“Quill, what the hell happened?”

“We’re getting outta here. Now.” He declared, ignoring your question and heading for the ladder to the cockpit. “Where’re the others?”

“On board. Quill—”

“See to Rocket, Y/N. I’ll fill you in later.”

He disappeared up the ladder, and you turned to Gamora. “Groot’s waiting for you in Quill’s bunk. Don’t let him into ours. Take him to the cockpit. I don’t want him to see Rocket until he’s patched up.”

Gamora nodded curtly, apparently taking your sudden change in personality in stride. She sheathed her blade and strode quickly down the corridor. You quickly followed after her, heading instead for your bunk.

Drax was waiting for you in the doorway, his hulking build effectively blocking the room from sight. He stepped aside to let you pass, handing you the bowl of water after you’d placed your supplies on the floor. You noticed claw marks on his hand and wrist.

“He didn’t want help.”

You shook your head, casting a look behind you. Rocket was lying on your bed, curled in on himself in pain. His entire body shook slightly, and you could already see blood on your sheets, and you pursed your lips. You expected his eyes to be closed, to be screwed shut as if it would somehow hold back the pain, but they were wide open, staring at the both of you reproachfully. It reminded you of a cat your father had once rescued from the side of the road after being hit by a car; wary and ready to attack if anyone approached, even those with gentle, caring hands. The cat had clawed the hell out of your dad’s arms before he’d managed to wrangle the thing into his jacket and hawl it to the vet.

“Quill wants us in the air, now,” you told Drax, biting your lips to try and quell your fluttering nerves. “He could probably use a co-pilot.”

“You need my assistance.”

“Quill needs it more. Sounds like he might need someone to point and shoot.” You dropped your voice, casting a glance at Rocket. He was still watching the two of you, expression the closest you’d ever seen to an animal’s. “Somehow I don’t think more people are going to make this any easier. Go help Quill, I’ll take care of him.”

Drax hesitated for a moment, before agreeing. “Be mindful, Y/N. He is not in the right mind.”

“He’s just scared.” You whispered. “Even if he’ll never admit it.”

You knelt beside the bunk as soon as Drax left, raising your hands slowly so he could see them. When he didn’t react, other than to shift his gaze to them and away from your face, you reached forward slowly to carefully brush reassuring fingertips against the fur of his shoulder.

“Rocket?”

A growl ripped through him, and you jerked your hand away as he lurched forward instinctively, snapping at you with bared teeth.

“Hey! Easy there, man!” you reprimanded, hands up in surrender. “Use your brain. I’m here to help you, remember?”

The growl continued for a while, but you held his gaze, your eyes wide and imploring. Slowly, Rocket seemed to come back to himself, and you spoke quietly.

“You good, buddy?”

“Hurts…”

“I know. But I’m going to have to touch it.” You said pityingly. He growled again instinctively, and you raised a brow. “Do you want to bleed out?”

He tried for a weak laugh. “Hey, it’s not my bed I’m bleedin’ on.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, asshole.” You joked, rolling your eyes. “Are you ready?”

He winced. “It hurts…”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Shut up, I’m being reassuring.”

He coughed another laugh, groaning when it aggravated his side.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “Okay. Okay… I need you to roll onto your back and let go of your side. I need to clean it up and stop the bleeding.” You sighed when he didn’t respond. “Now, Rocket. We need to get this done and my bunk cleaned up before Groot starts wondering where you are. Do you want him to see you like this?”

He hesitated, before groaning again and complying, reluctantly letting go of his side. “Bitch…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I am. Enjoy this while it lasts; I’m giving you a free pass to call me whatever you want.” You swallowed heavily as you took in the sight of his blood-soaked fur. Between the matted hair and the fraying edges of his jumpsuit, you couldn’t see the wound clearly enough to see how deep or how large it was, and you hesitated for a long moment before picking up a towel. “Because this is going to hurt. On the count of three, ready? One…”

You immediately pressed the towel against his side firmly, and he swore loudly. His claws sliced into the back of your hand, and you winced.

“I knew you were going to do that, you bitch.”

“Okay, so I’ve seen one too many TV shows, sue me.” You said, using one hand to soak a square of gauze in the bowl and squeeze out the excess water. “Is that the best you got?”

“I’m a little distracted.”

“What the hell were you doing to get yourself shot?”

“Oh, you know. Havin’ a good time.” He chuckled, hissing as your fingers pressed deeper into his side.

“Sorry.” You eased up slightly. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

Rocket’s lips quirked in a self-depreciating smirk, his gaze on the ceiling. “Better me than some asshole.”

“Who says you’re not an asshole?” you teased, and his smirk widened. You pulled the towel away slowly, relieved to see the blood flow had slowed considerably. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Or something.” He said huskily, looking down at his side as you pulled the towel away completely. “Shit…”

“I think most of the bleeding’s stopped,” you offered, clearing your throat as your fingers gently explored the fur around the wound. “I’m not used to working on… it’s hard to tell with the fur.”

“Just let me do it m’self,” he said, trying to sit up.

“Hey, don’t even try to give me any of that macho, lone-wolf bullshit.” You grabbed his arm before thinking, and he flinched under the contact. You eased your grip quickly, but you didn’t let go. Instead, you brushed your fingertips soothingly through the fur up to his shoulder. His eyes closed. “You move before I tell you to and you could start the bleeding all over again.”

“You’re a bossy little asshole.”

“You betcha.” You said snidely, releasing him. “Now sit your ass still. I’m working here.”

He snorted, hissing a breath as you began cleaning the wound, carefully dabbing away at the blood-matted fur. His breathing was shallow, his eyes closed.

“You know it would hurt less if you breathed deeper.”

“Why’re you doin’ this?”

You raised a brow, not taking your eyes off your work. Tossing aside the bloody gauze, you picked up a fresh square. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He didn’t seem to have any kind of response to that, so the two of you fell silent for a while. It wasn’t until you sprayed antiseptic on it that he spoke again, letting out a snarl. “Warning would’ve been nice!”

You shrugged, “I knew you’d just complain about it.”

“Bitch.”

“You’re welcome. Unzip.”

“What?”

“Unzip. I need to wrap it, and I can’t do it while your jumpsuit is covering it.”

Rocket shook his head adamantly. “I can do it myself.”

“You can wrap it and hold the gaze in place at the same time? You can wrap it, so you won’t irritate the stuff on your back when you can’t see it?” Your tone was firm despite your gentle voice. “I’m trying to help you, Rocket.”

“I know, I just—”

“I don’t care what they did to you. But I do care about making sure you’re taken care of. So, please. Just let me help?”

He sighed, standing gingerly and turning his back to you. You bit your lip as you saw more and more of his back, the jagged pieces of metal implanted in his skin leaving bare patches of skin and angry scars around them. He tied the sleeves around his waist, and you pressed a new, dry square of gauze over the wound.

“Hold it for me?”

You weren’t sure if you began speaking for your sake or his as you began wrapping the bandage around his middle, but both of you seemed to relax slightly as you did.

“So, I gave you a free pass to call me whatever names you want and the best you can come up with is ‘bitch’ and ‘asshole’?” you teased. “I’ve heard you call Quill worse for walking too slow.”

He shrugged slightly. “You’re helpin’ me.”

“I also just spent the better half of an hour poking you in a pretty nasty injury.” You pointed out, securing the bandage. “I wouldn’t be offended. You’re done.”

“Thanks.” He sat down on the bed, facing you again, paw over his side.

“So, last chance to get those insults out,” you offered teasingly, gathering up the bloody cloths and towel and pushing them into your laundry bag. You’d get rid of them at next port. Groot had a habit of finding things he wasn’t supposed to, so you stowed it in your locker. You sat down next to him, mindful of the blood splattered on your sheets. “Say anything you want.”

He looked up at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. “You’re a doll.”

You smiled, surprised. “Not what I was expecting.”

He ducked his head, and you could have sworn he’d be blushing under all that fur. Then he frowned, his paw hesitantly touching the back of your hand. You’d cleaned off any blood, but the scratch marks he’d left on the back of your hand were prominent against your skin. Your eyes followed his, and you covered them with your other hand.

“I’m sorry. Shit, I—”

“Don’t you dare,” you told him softly. “You didn’t mean to do it. It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Rocket, I’m okay. Are you?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Can you promise me something?”

“I guess.”

“Look after yourself, alright?” you said. “I don’t want to have to explain to Groot why you’re suddenly not around anymore.”

He shook his head, smirking slightly. “That’s a low blow, Y/N.”

“And you know,” you shrugged. “I’d probably miss you, too.”


End file.
